


Teacher of the Year

by Darvyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Unreliable Narrator, but not in an angsty way they're just dumb sometimes, in the epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darvyn/pseuds/Darvyn
Summary: Beloved chemistry teacher Stiles Stilinski is determined to reclaim the title of 'Teacher of the Year' from his annoying history teaching counterpart.Little does he know that the history teacher has something up his sleeve.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2020





	Teacher of the Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everchanginginks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everchanginginks/gifts).



> This is for the talented and lovely everchanginginks for the Sterek Secret Santa! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you, I hope you enjoy this gift!
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you Leonie for putting this together once more!
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO EVERYONE!! ฅ(•ω•)ฅ

Just down the hall from the quiet studying of history students in Room 17-B lies classroom 17-A which, contrasting its quieter neighbor, is filled with sugar-fueled enthusiasm as adolescent students gleefully tear into their candy atom diagrams. Only after getting the go ahead from their _awesome_ chemistry teacher wearing a colorful periodic table tie over a blue dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, of course.

Said awesome teacher places the end of a blue raspberry sour punch straw in the corner of his mouth and chews with an unabashed grin. As he’s halfway through the straw the bell rings and he breaks into his parting spiel for his students, the straw sticking from the corner of his mouth like a cowboy.

“Okay class, please make sure to turn your worksheets into the tray on your way out and please take your candy diagrams with you. You’re not gonna break my heart if you don’t eat them, I just don’t want next period to deal with this period’s mess. Tonight’s homework is on the board and on the syllabus, and don’t forget to submit your vote for Teacher of the Year during lunch if you have not already. Have a good rest of your day everyone, and as always come to me with any questions...and that means _any_."

Scattered responses of “Okay” and “Thanks Mr. Stilinski” and “Bye” fill the room as the students start to file out the classroom.

“You’re about as subtle as a brick to the teeth.” Says a mildly amused female voice from over his shoulder.

Stiles finishes the candy and turns around to look exasperatedly at the strawberry blonde speaker sitting behind his desk, "And _you’re_ underestimating how important this is. My reclaiming of the throne is in danger!"

"Uh huh..." MIT grad and certified genius Lydia Martin nods in mock understanding as she sips from her floral patterned ceramic travel coffee cup.

"Thanks again for agreeing to come in and lecture for my AP Chem students on such short notice by the way.” Stiles scratches at the tousled mess on his head and offers the open package of sour punch straws from his desk, “You are a literal God send."

She grimaces and waves the proffered sugary confection away, "For someone in the sciences, your improper use of the word 'literal' is rather concerning. Perhaps your throne is in more danger than previously thought."

“Don’t _say_ that, you’re gonna jinx it!” He reaches over and raps his knuckles against his wooden desk three times while speaking a mile a minute, “I _need_ to win, I can’t have mister ‘look at me bringing my history and polisci students on the coolest field trips in the history of this school because I can _somehow_ pull strings to make these trips a reality despite there being like _no_ funding--seriously how _does_ he do it--and my students adore me even though I constantly look like I probably lure people into the woods with my beautiful eyes and murder them in my free time’ beat _me_ at my own game, _again_!” 

He huffs at the end of his tirade and looks to Lydia for understanding, but she avoids his gaze and poorly suppresses snickers under her breath.

“C’mon it’s not _that_ funny. I know he can ‘smolder’ his way into the heart of even the most introverted student,” Stiles gesticulates with each emphasis, “but I have _charm_ , I’m _approachable_ , I _understand_ these students. I _love_ my job and I do _everything_ in my ability to give these students every opportunity they _deserve_ . If that’s not ‘Teacher of the Year’ material, then I don’t know _what_ is.” 

Stiles stops, taps his chin thoughtfully and sighs, “Though I totally understand that the title is purely for bragging rights, and it ultimately comes down to just continuing to be the best teacher I can be. Derek is a great teacher that _also_ deserves the title and I can respect that, but gosh darn does he get my competitive side riled up.”

“Uh huh…” Lydia hums and taps her fingers against her cup as she pointedly looks past Stiles, “Mr. Stilinski, I do believe there’s someone that needs your help?”

“Oh!” Stiles quickly straightens himself and his tie, and turns around with a wide grin, “What can I do for--YOU!” Stiles quickly twists his expression into a frown and throws a finger up accusingly after registering who was darkening his doorway.

Standing in the doorway with a glare that could send a lesser man running for the hills is the previously mentioned competitor and last year’s winner for ‘Teacher of the Year’, mister ‘coolest history teacher’ Derek Hale in all his annoyingly gorgeous, stubbly, glory. He side-eyes Stiles’ _organized_ chaos in the chemistry lab from behind thick framed hipster looking glasses and grimaces, “Am I interrupting something?”

Stiles grits his teeth, he can practically _feel_ the judgement over his classroom’s state radiating off of the (not even tenured!) history teacher and _no_ amount of soft looking cable knit sweaters could lessen that blow. “As a matter of fact--”

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all Derek.” Lydia places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as she walks past him, “I was just about to go say hi to Kira.”

Derek moves aside to let Lydia pass, she turns to smile at Stiles from the doorway, “I’ll come back by 6th period for your second AP Chem class. I think I’ll also grab some lunch from Whole Foods.”

“Uh...Bye?” Stiles weakly waves at Lydia’s parting back. He refocuses his attention on the offending history teacher and crosses his arms across his chest petulantly, “Alrighty, what d’ya need _Mr._ _Hale_?”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek holds up a handful of papers, steps forward, and emphatically places them in Stiles' inbox, “Your mail. I know your TA usually grabs it for you, but he’s out sick today. And I was already in the mailroom.”

“Whoa, wait wait, how do you know that my TA is out sick today, have you been stalking my classes? Are you trying to find a way to one up me? Steal some of my _stellar_ teaching techniques because you know that you’ll lose otherwise?” Stiles narrows his eyes and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial tone while leaning forward to scrutinize Derek’s expression, “What’s your game here _Mr. Hale_?”

Derek's hazel eyes widen incredulously as he scoffs, “I don't need to _stalk_ your classes, Liam's one of my students too. And please remind me, what did I do to make you so hostile again?”

“Playing dumb isn’t cute. You know full well what you did.” Stiles pokes at Derek’s chest and--oh that’s a soft sweater--puffs his own out, “But no matter what, I’m going to take what’s rightfully _mine_.”

His competitor’s face reddens in anger and Stiles feels a thrum of excitement at his ability to break Derek’s usual expression of ‘sourpuss lumberjack murderer’. A sly grin works its way across Stiles’ face as he shrugs coyly, “What can I say, I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

Stiles’ wrist is suddenly grabbed by a warm, slightly calloused palm--there may be something to that murderer in the woods theory--and wrenched away from the soft sweater. “And _what_ would that be, Stiles?” Derek growls--who the hell _growls_ \--while leaning in _way_ too close for comfort.

“ _What_ would that be? Um...I want to win? Obviously?” Stiles splutters as his face reddens, offended that Derek would suggest that there would be anything _else_ . “I’m gonna _own_ you, Derek. I’m gonna _own_ you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.”

“How about you take me to dinner first, before you ‘own’ me?” Derek says matter-of-factly.

“Uh no, how about _you_ take _me_ to dinner to celebrate my overwhelming victory over your grumpy ass? Doesn’t that make a _little_ more sense than going to dinner before either of us win?” Stiles rolls his eyes, laughing at Derek’s lack of logic. But his laughter sputters out and he stills once his brain processes what just happened. “Wait… wait wait… was that some sort of sad attempt at asking me out in the most backwards, reverse engineered manner possible?”

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, who nods patiently, as if Stiles was one of their students that needs tutoring. 

“Oh my God. Oh my _GOD_ !” Stiles backs away and into his desk, voice rising in panic, “What even? What’s happening here? Are you trying to throw me off my game? Cause that’s a dirty tactic, even for you. Because there’s no way someone like _you_ would legitimately ask out someone like _me_ . That just doesn’t make sense. You’re like a sexy lumberjack murderer historian, and I’m like a young Bill Nye. I'm in the _sciences_ , and _you're_ in the _humanities_ . And you don’t even _like_ me. You _haven’t_ liked me since your first day!”

“Hold on.” Derek holds his palms up defensively, “What are you talking about? You were the one glaring at _me_ like there was no tomorrow.”

Stiles inspects Derek’s expression for any sign of deception, seeing none he sighs. “Fine, I guess it was just so unimportant to mister bigshot Hale to remember measly Mr. Stilinski. Do you remember moving into your classroom?”

He nods, urging Stiles to continue. 

“So _I_ didn’t know that the new teacher was moving in _that day_ , so when I saw a big package outside of your soon to be classroom, I assumed that it was my delivery of graduated cylinders that was dropped off to the wrong room since it was early in the morning and people make mistakes sometimes, y’know?” Stiles gives Derek no opportunity to say anything and continues at full speed. “I went over and got ready to take the package, only to have you open the door and give me the scariest look in my _entire life_. Do you remember what you said to me, Derek?” 

“You said,” Stiles changes his voice to imitate Derek’s, “‘That is my _private_ property. If you value your time at this school, you will leave it alone. If I see this behavior again I will bring it up with Principal Yukimura’. So, yeah! Something about that kinda exchange can make a guy think you hate them!”

Derek groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh my God...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, so you do remember? Or did you conveniently forget _threatening_ me?” Stiles grabs another sour punch straw and chews it angrily, “Because I sure as hell didn’t!”

“Stiles…” Derek laughs breathily, “I thought you were a _student_ . I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was _dark_ . Oh my _god_ . I thought the first time we met was in the teachers' lounge, and by that point I already unknowingly made a terrible first impression on you. No _wonder_ you looked at me with such hatred. Oh my goodness.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah, oh…”

Stiles chews the straw thoughtfully and rocks on the balls of his feet. “So… about that backwards dinner invitation…”

“Yeah?” Derek perks up slightly, looking almost _adorable_ , though Stiles would never say that outloud.

“How about whoever wins ‘Teacher of the Year’ gets treated to dinner, hm?” Stiles holds out a hand for a handshake.

With a goofy grin revealing _adorable_ (there’s that word again!) bunny teeth that brighten up Derek’s entire face, much better than the usual murderous look, he enthusiastically takes Stiles' hand and shakes it.

“Deal.”

* * *

**Epilogue**

“I still can’t believe it!”

“I know.” Derek hums as he reaches over to refill Stiles’ glass.

“Honestly, who saw this coming?”

“Certainly not me,” Derek swirls some pasta around his fork and fondly watches Stiles throw back the wine as if it was jungle juice rather than a nice glass of Chardonnay.

Stiles’ honey-brown eyes glimmer with the same kind of mischievous enthusiasm that Derek remembered seeing for the first time at the first assembly of the school year. He gave some sort of spiel about the importance of working together and not being afraid to ask for help, which ended with a demonstration of elephant toothpaste. Derek is embarrassed to say how much he grew to admire the gawky chemistry teacher after that assembly.

“I absolutely kicked your _ass_ dude.” Stiles leans across the table to grab the dessert menu. “Since it’s your treat, I think I’ll indulge in some dessert.” He worries his bottom lip, which makes Derek have to cough and turn his attention away.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek weakly responds.

“Ooh, this one is topped with bourbon vanilla bean _chantilly_ cream, which is basically bougie whipped cream. How do you feel about bread pudding by the way?” Stiles looks up from the menu through his eyelashes--and there is _no_ way he doesn’t know how he looks--and flutters them exaggeratedly. “Or are you too sour over losing to wittle ol’ me?”

Derek snorts and reaches over to clasp Stiles’ free hand, “On the contrary, I’d be happy to lose to you again.”

Stiles returns the gesture and leans forward, eyes glimmering, his face mere inches away from Derek’s, “Promise?”

Derek is suddenly very glad that they are sitting because he can feel himself go weak in the knees. He nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I promise.” And leans forward to close the gap.

Their first kiss tastes like garlic bread, which is a little unconventional, but Derek wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you have a great day/night! (≧∀≦)
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, but not necessary. 
> 
> [not beta-read, so please let me know if there are any errors]


End file.
